


Christmas in July

by Venstar



Series: 2019 007 Fest Series [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, Mayhem, Q Branch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 14:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19832476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: For the MI6 007 Fest Collaborative prompt.  @Linorien was the prompt giver. "I'm requesting a story featuring R."





	Christmas in July

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/gifts).



> i have my own version of R. she's got her own story on my ao3 somewhere. i think it's called the origin of R wow how creative is that title. anyway if you see her...you know she's mine. little devil in disguise.

R walked into the agent's breakroom unannounced. Multiple eyes dropped to her feet and slowly drew themselves up to the top of her head. Today, she was wearing green flats with spikes jutting from the top of the toe box, bright red leggings, a forest green dress with a white peter pan collar and a barrette with holly and berries holding back one side of her orange hair. It was the middle of July. Without saying anything, she raised a paper cup to her lips and tossed back the contents. With her mouth full like a squirrel, she swallowed, then crushed the paper cup in her hand. Everyone's stomachs dropped into their feet. They stopped what they were doing. This was bad. This was VERY bad. 

"What's up, bitches!?" R asked, throwing her crushed cup into the waste bin.

“Shit,” 004 whispered. She’s the second eldest in the bunch, dark hair drawn back into a ballet bun. She’s the only one still in her MI6 workout gear.

R lifted her tablet up and waved it at them. “So guess who's in charge of you fucking fucks today? ME.”

The agents wanted to protest. They wanted to ask questions, but this was R, not Q.

Sadly...002 was a baby agent, just freshly picked out of the line up of field agents so he didn’t know to hold his tongue. 

“What? That’s not the order of things. M’s in charge and then…” His voice trailed off as he was pelted with partially filled and empty paper cups. His suit became damply speckled with dots of tea and coffee. “HEY!” 

He punched 003 in the shoulder. “Tanner’s chief of staff and M’s the head, what? There’s a hierarchy!” 

A biscuit bounced off his thick skull. It’s too late to undo the damage. 

R smiled beatifically at him. “Aren’t you a good boy. Reciting regulations and the staff directory. Someone give him another biscuit for being such a good boy.”

Five biscuits bounced off the back of his head.

“Stop talking!” 004 hissed. “You’ll make it worse!”

“OW quit it!” 002 wiped at the back of his sandy blond hair. His hand came away with a smear of chocolate. “Okay, who did that!?”

“Well if you must know, you bad boy. Q's on sick leave-” 

“More like you poisoned him so he’d sleep leave,” 008 mumbled under his breath interrupting R.

“What? What was that? You think I poisoned him?” R strode through the agents. Her bright orange hair in its customary sharp bob swung dangerously at 008 as if it wanted to stab him as well. “Fuck yeah I did and I’ll poison you next if you don’t shut your gob.” She pulled a pen out of her pocket protector and held it over his coffee.

008 will never admit that he squealed like a little pig when the tip of her pen jutted over his cup. Nor that he jerked back and sheltered it within the protective hunch of his body to keep the poisonous liquid everyone knew she kept in there. It would knock them on their asses for days with vomiting and diarrhea.

“Children. If we’re all done being scared of R, perhaps we could let her finish her summary.” A droll voice from the back of the small, biscuit throwing, cowering crowd of agents spoke up. 

“Thank you 007. See, that’s an agent who knows who's in charge of him. Now as I was saying. Q’s on sick leave...forced sick leave, but whatever. 007 if you don’t behave I won’t let you off early to go tend to him.”

“Wot?” 007 asked, blinking fast, mouth full, wiping biscuit crumbs on a napkin.

“Don’t wot me. So behave. M’s in a meeting with MI5 because they can’t figure out how to get out of a cardboard box. Moneypenny and Tanner are with him because we’re not exactly sure M knows how to get MI5 out of said cardboard box. So it’s all hands on deck at MI5, meaning I’m in charge of who?” R leaned forward and cupped her hand around her ear. “I can’t hear you!”

The agents, including 007 mumbled in a disgruntled fashion. “Us fucking fucks.”

“That’s right. Now, follow me if you want to live.” R spun around on her heel and waved her hand in the air towards the door.

007 sighed, but he was the first one to follow her, along with 004 hot on his heels. They trailed after R like homicidal ducklings after their homicidal duck daddy. 

Upon reaching the dark, dank catacombs of Q branch, R threw the doors open, startling the flock of minions perched haphazardly about the room. Some fell off their chairs, some off of step ladders and one of them fell into the open guts of a Mazda Miata. 

“Fuck, R!” The Miata Minion called out.

“Yeah, yeah. Belt it or I’ll call health and safety. That’s the tea cupboard ladder, not the automotive step stool. 10 POINTS FROM RAVENCLAW!”

The minions who were part of Ravenclaw groaned. One threw a wrench at the Miata Minion and the Slytherins cheered.

The Miata Minion spoke no more. No one wished the visit of health and safety anywhere or the deduction of house points.

R plowed ahead. “All right, listen up Agents. I’m only going to say this once. If you miss it, well you’ll be our R&D Demo Dummy for the rest of the year. Okay, 002!”

002, having learned from his first encounter with R, nearly knocked her tablet out of her hands as he popped up like a weasel at her elbow. “Yes, R”

“Down boy. Okay, you get the...where is it? HENRY, WHERE’S THE BIKE? 10 POINTS FROM HUFFLEPUFF FOR UNPREPAREDNESS!”

The other minions in Hufflepuff house groaned and the Slytherins cheered.

002 actually jumped up and down. “I get a motorcycle! Sweet!” His face dropped as Henry wheeled in a crate. R opened the lid and peered in.

“Ah, yes. 002, an All-Terrain Sport R500 Electric Commuter Bike. Some assembly required. You’re to pick up where 007 left and check out SPECTRE’s old stomping grounds in Rome. Some of them seem to have stuck around. Take them out. You’ll be less conspicuous as a tourist. Don’t forget to tuck your trousers into your socks to make it believable. Comes with a mini-rocket launcher, poisonous gas hidden in the tires, and hidden in the bike seat is a teeny weenie handgun for a teeny weenie agent. Oh, and radio. Merry Christmas. Moving on.” R walked away, leaving 002 with Henry who was going over more of the bicycle with him, including how to pack, unpack it and reassemble it after transport.

“You WANT me to bring it back?” 002 squawked.

R smiled to herself as 002’s voice carried over to her.

004 rolled her eyes. She knew better than to ask dumb questions.

“Marguerite will be handling you, 004. You’ll be part of a traveling troupe of actors as their makeup artist/seamstress. Money laundering is suspected. Marg--WHY IS NOBODY READY? THAT’S IT 10 POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!”

The Slytherins cheered as the Gryffindors growled their disapproval.

Marguerite came hustling from the far end, her lab coat flapping about her knees. She was carrying a large latching case. “Sorry R, we were pressure testing it. It passed.” She placed it gently on the workbench in front of R. 

“I’m still deducting points for that. Now, Marguerite, go over the kit with 004. Make sure she knows which compartments contain the explosives and the cutting wires. 004, do NOT apply the explosives to the actor's faces. We don’t want another Sydney event now, do we? No. There’s a good girl. Moving on!”

R went through the remainder of the agent's kits and assignments in rapid-fire. Deducting house points left and right. Eventually, Slytherin fucked up and points were taken from them. Twenty to be exact. They booed as the other houses cheered. Gryffindor roared their approval. 

“And, last but certainly not least. 007.” R smiled up at him and leaned against her own workbench.

A creepy crawling sensation started at the low end of Bond’s spine and worked it’s way up until all of his short stubby, fancy cut hair stood on end. 

“Where am I whoring myself out this time.”

“Is sex the first place your mind goes to?” R asked. “For me, it’s pizza. I love pizza. I don’t have to fuck it.”

Bond raised one eyebrow. “But you could if you tried hard enough.”

R laughed. “You’ll have to tell me your pizza fucking story later. Ah, the things people did back in the dark ages for fun. I hope you wore protection. Now. Your assignment…” R’s voice trailed off and she tapped her lip.

Oh dear. Bond turned when her eyes focused just beyond his left shoulder. Someone was running up behind him. He didn’t flinch, which was a near thing, but he kept his eyes on them because not only were they running up behind him, they had his coat and two insulated grocery bags.

“Do I need a snack on this mission? No, let me guess. Delivering groceries to a terrorist cell and the jokes on them because inside is c4 in the shape of bananas.”

R laughed as the minion held his items out to her. “Close, but no. Q is terrifying when he’s sick but M would frown on us if we blew him up.”

Bond looked at her quizzically. “My target is Q?”

R merely grinned and held his coat and the bags out to him. “Technically speaking, yes.”

He sighed. “What has he done to be put on the watchlist...again?”

“Oh, he’s not on MI6’s watch list. He’s on my watchlist. Now, be a good boy and put your coat on. There’s a good lad.” She turned him until he was facing the exit to Q branch and pushed his shoulder until he yanked it out of her reach and put his coat on. “Your mission is to take these bags of groceries to our fearless scarecrow of a leader and feed him up.”

“Wot?”

R kept talking and pushing his shoulder no matter how he tried to avoid it. There she was. “There’s three...maybe four days of food in there for one underfed nerd, depending on how much he’s actually starved himself. You may have to ration the tea out. Don’t let him bully you for it. I stuck a pack of cards in your coat as well in case he needs to be entertained. Now, off you pop! Make me proud.” She pushed him into the lift and pressed the up button. “Bye, bye Bond! Merry Christmas!”


End file.
